. Once when I was spending a silent winter upon the shore
of Devon, I had with me the two folio volumes of his works, and
patiently read the better part of them; it was more fruitful than a
study of all the modern historians who have written about his time. I
saw the man; caught many a glimpse of his mind and heart, and names
which had been to me but symbols in a period of obscure history became
things living and recognizable.

I could have travelled from Catanzaro by railway to the sea-coast
station called Squillace, but the town itself is perched upon a
mountain some miles inland, and it was simpler to perform the whole
journey by road, a drive of four hours, which, if the weather favoured
me, would be thoroughly enjoyable. On my last evening Don Pasquale gave
a good account of the sky; he thought I might hopefully set forth on
the morrow, and, though I was to leave at eight o'clock, promised to
come and see me off. Very early I looked forth, and the prospect seemed
doubtful; I had half a mind to postpone departure. But about seven came
Don Pasquale's servant, sent by his master to inquire whether I should
start or not, and, after asking the man's opinion, I decided to take
courage. The sun rose; I saw the streets of Catanzaro brighten in its
pale gleams, and the rack above interspaced with blue.

Luckily my carriage-owner was a man of prudence; at the appointed hour
he sent a covered vehicle--not the open _carozzella_ in which I should
have cheerfully set forth had it depended upon myself. Don Pasquale,
too, though unwilling to perturb me, could not altogether disguise his
misgivings. At my last sight of him, he stood on the pavement before
the hotel gazing anxiously upwards. But the sun still shone, and as we
began the descent of the mountain-side I felt annoyed at having to view
the landscape through loopholes.

Of a sudden--we were near the little station down in the valley--there
arose a mighty roaring, and all the trees of the wayside bent as if
they would break. The sky blackened, the wind howled, and presently, as
I peered through the window for some hope that this would only be a
passing storm, rain beat violently upon my face. Then the carriage
stopped, and my driver, a lad of about seventeen, jumped down to put
something right in the horses' harness.

"Is this going to last?" I shouted to him.

"No, no, signore" he answered gaily. "It will be over in a minute or
two. _Ecco il sole_!"

I beheld no sun